


Seeing Red

by o_hoechyeah



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Temporary Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:15:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22243195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o_hoechyeah/pseuds/o_hoechyeah
Summary: Stiles always thought there would be sparks when he met his soulmate.So, when Derek clawed out Peter’s throat and Stiles lost color, he was understandably shocked.A soulmate AU where people go colorblind when their soulmate dies.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 24
Kudos: 1118
Collections: SteterFaves





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles always thought there would be sparks when he met his soulmate. 

He thought they would just _know_. They would look into each other’s eyes and everything else would melt away. Something indescribable would click into place for them both and maybe they’d skip off into the sunset. 

That was how Scott always described meeting Allison at least. The two of them were inseparable from the start. And sure enough, when they compared marks months later, they were mates. 

He was surprised they waited so long at all, he’d have thought Scott would have shown his mark the day they met. But a mark is an intimate thing, most don’t share them very easily. Allison was the more sensible one, she probably encouraged Scott to be more patient. 

It wasn’t just Scott’s constant talk of Allison that convinced him that meeting his mate would be a spectacular affair. Movies, books, songs, and even comic books all depicted a ‘love at first sight’ meet cute that came to be synonymous with the meeting of a soulmate.

So, when Derek clawed out Peter’s throat and Stiles lost color, he was understandably shocked. 

There were no sparks when he first met Peter, not in the hospital hallway when he’d first met his eyes, not in the parking garage where the man threatened him, and certainly not when he found the man crouched over Lydia’s bloody body. 

All he’d felt was fear that the demented Alpha was going to kill him. 

But now, as he watched the life drain out of Peter’s eyes and the color fade from his world, he wondered, could they have been happy together? Was Peter meant to be his perfect match?

No, probably not. Maybe it was for the best that the universe had to take him away. 

He dropped to his knees beside Peter’s body, ignoring Derek’s barking orders and Scott’s plea for him to stay away. What did it matter anymore? The man was dead. He couldn’t hurt anyone. 

Stiles traced a gentle finger over the small mark on Peter’s bare chest, it was identical to his own. He’d recognize the symbol anywhere. Still, just to be certain, he raised the edge of his shirt to stare at his hip, at the mark there that itched and burned as it faded to a dull gray. 

The two werewolves finally fell silent when they realized what had happened to him. He hadn’t realized they were still talking at all. Part of him thought he should be embarrassed that his mark was on display, but Scott had seen it plenty of times before and Derek had probably seen his own uncle’s mark at some point.

He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t leave Peter’s side. He waved off Scott’s offered hand and ignored Derek’s order to leave. He didn’t go so far as clinging to the lifeless body, but he kept his hand over the mark on Peter’s chest. Finding it incredibly unnerving that there was no heartbeat beneath his fingers. 

Derek barked an order at Scott, there was arguing, Stiles was focused on trying to keep his hand over Peter’s heart, waiting for it to beat. Logically he knew it wouldn’t, but if he took his hand away, he might miss it. 

He was being dragged away. He didn’t fight it. Couldn’t fight it if he tried. 

Then, he was in his room.

Scott promised to be back after he checked on Allison. He’d forget, Stiles was sure of it. 

Derek was probably digging a grave right about now. 

Stiles didn’t know why he cared so much. He didn’t know Peter, not really. He didn’t feel anything special toward the man, he couldn’t envision a future with that homicidal maniac. 

So why did he hurt so much? 

Possibly, it was what Peter’s death represented. His fate-chosen one true match was gone. It didn’t mean he couldn’t settle down and be happy with someone else, but it would never be the same. 

He would never have a love like his parents. 

Whoever he dated, they would always be waiting on their soulmate, they would leave him in a moment’s notice if they found their match. Or, if they’d lost their mate like him, they would always wonder what could have been.

Stiles couldn’t ever be enough, not like he could have been to Peter. 

His own father hadn’t found anyone after they lost his mom. Claudia’s death had broken him in so many ways, it took years to put the man back together. 

Not that Stiles was broken. No, he didn’t _love_ Peter. And if Peter had lived… the man was bonkers, he couldn’t have had a normal white picket fence future with that. 

Either way, whether Peter lived or died, he wouldn’t have had the love he always imagined. 

He contented himself with the knowledge that he didn’t have to look anymore. There was no point in being hopeful to meet his match, he wouldn’t have to face the disappointment that couples often felt when they revealed their marks just to find that they’re unmatched. 

At least now he knew.

__________

A little over a month had passed since that day.

Stiles was almost okay. He accepted his fate. He accepted that Peter was gone.

Scott reached out a few times. But after Stiles brushed off his concerns time after time, even his best friend stopped trying to comfort him. 

Not that he needed it. Peter was just a psychotic Alpha on a rampage. He couldn’t grieve a man he didn’t really know, a man he hated for ruining Scott’s life and turning his own upside down. 

He wasn’t _all_ bad though, he did give Stiles a choice that day. One that Scott and Lydia didn’t get. Maybe that doesn’t make him any less awful, but it was something Stiles took into consideration. 

Mostly, Stiles was preoccupied with the worry that maybe _he_ wasn’t a good person either.

Scott and Allison had smiles of sunshine and maybe a bit of a ruthless side when it came to protecting those they cared for, but they always had the greater good in mind. They were good people, both of them. 

So, if Stiles’ mate was Peter… was he going to lose it as well? Was he just one bad day away from losing his own mind? 

He thought about what he would do if he ever lost his father. If he knew who the killer was and had the ability to end them without mercy. 

Yes, maybe he was like Peter in that way. The man really only went after those involved in his family’s murder. 

Plus that nurse, but she might have deserved it. 

He also killed Laura, turned Scott, and attacked Lydia. But he was acting on instinct, he knew he needed power to heal completely and a pack to stay safe. 

Peter had his reasons for what he did, it was never random.

He wanted to hear about who Peter was before the fire. If he was better once, it would mean Stiles didn’t have to be a step away from crazy too. Or maybe it was further proof that he _was_ a bad day away from losing everything good about himself. Either way he wanted to know. 

He tried reaching out to Derek many times, but the Alpha was too busy making puppies that looked down their noses at little human Stiles to bother responding to him. 

Trying to force answers didn’t work either. He waited until the pack meeting was over and refused to leave until Derek listened to him, but it only got him manhandled out of the loft and shoved into his own jeep. 

He kept to himself after that. 

He only went to meetings when Scott asked him to. Stiles figured it was Scott’s attempt to have a single person on his side when he argued against Derek. Lately, Isaac was gravitating towards Scott in his place. Stiles was a little grateful, it let him sit in silence and get lost in his own thoughts when the conversation got boring.

Derek didn’t seem to care if he went or not. He was a valuable asset where research was concerned and a liability all other times. 

His rocky ties with the pack only further contributed to the growing feeling that the universe was punishing him somehow. He didn’t deserve to bond with a pack, didn’t deserve a soulmate, didn’t even deserve a mother. He felt useless and unworthy of being cared for.

There had to be something wrong with him. It seemed like the only explanation. Why else would fate take everything from him?

Even his father eventually caught on to his bad mood and asked what had gotten him so down, but Stiles didn’t have the heart to tell him he was colorless too. He didn’t want to open old wounds. He’d rather plaster on a fake smile everyday than watch his father fall into a bottle of whiskey again.

So he lied. 

It was getting pretty easy these days. 

A few excuses about being stressed out from school and feeling left behind by Scott, and his father was off his case with a few words of encouragement and a pat on the back. 

He wasn’t entirely lying, his excuses held some truth to them. His grades were slipping because he couldn’t concentrate and he did feel like Scott was moving on without him. The boy was excelling in lacrosse, found his soulmate, found a pack where he belonged, and he had superhuman abilities that put him leagues ahead of Stiles. 

So, maybe he was feeling a little left out.

__________

He was trying to get through a pile of late assignments and definitely not _moping_ about being alone on a Friday night, when it happened.

Color. 

One minute, he’s fiddling with a loose gray thread on his sleeve. And the next, red. 

It didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t have just _imagined_ being colorless. But there it was, right in front of his eyes, his hoodie was red. 

He couldn’t have gotten a _new_ soulmate, it didn’t work that way. Not as far as he knew. 

The same mark he’d had his whole life was burning at his hip as it darkened once again. It was Peter. It had to be.

Was he undead? A zombie? A vampire? A Phoenix possibly? He should probably brush up on his lore of what creatures could return from the dead.

Derek. He had to call Derek. He could know something. 

Stiles called about a hundred times, until the phone stopped ringing at all and went straight to voicemail. Scott’s phone must have been off as well because none of his calls were going through to anyone.

He was pacing the room, sure that something evil was coming for him or that he was in danger. But after a couple hours of losing his mind, nothing happened. 

He thought about driving around town aimlessly until he spotted a crazed out zombie monster, but what could he have done then? He couldn’t exactly take Peter down by himself. He was just a human, something the wolves never let him forget. 

Derek would be pissed if he had to deal with another murder investigation. 

It had to be a problem for the wolves. Whatever he was now, Peter wouldn’t come after him. He didn’t even know that Stiles was his mate. 

So, he tried his best to calm down and got to work researching resurrection and creatures that couldn’t die. Although, he kept getting distracted by glancing at his phone every few minutes, expecting someone to return his call, but none ever came.

__________

Scott hadn’t heard anything about an undead monster lurking around town. He was such an optimist, he thought Stiles had a new mate. As if fate got it wrong the first time. It was ridiculous. And, after extensive googling, probably impossible.

About as impossible as a mate coming back from the dead.

He was still so confused.

__________

Days passed.

Derek was as unreliable as ever. Apparently he had bigger concerns to deal with at the moment than Stiles’ sense of reality collapsing. 

The man was probably dealing with a lot. His undead uncle was probably craving brains locked up in the basement. He could hardly blame Derek for being distracted. 

He blamed him for a lot, but he’d give him the benefit of the doubt for this. 

Derek has been out of his element for some time now, he’ll eventually figure out how to be a good Alpha. 

And then maybe he’ll actually listen to Stiles. 

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

__________

Stiles was getting good at moving on again like nothing strange had ever happened. He was beginning to think his brain just got sick of gray and decided to make up color again. Or maybe that his brain made up losing color in the first place.

He was contemplating the likelihood that his brain was just fucking with him when he came face to face with a pair of glowing blue eyes lurking in a chair in the far corner of his bedroom.

His first thought was Derek. The man enjoyed the theatrics of being a creepy werewolf from time to time. 

But Derek lost his blue eyes when he gained red ones. None of the new betas had blue eyes, which meant he didn’t know this wolf. Could it be a rogue Omega in his room? Possibly feral? He wouldn’t even have time to get the wolfsbane before they ate his face. 

Unless…

“Who are you?” He finally asked, waiting for the wolf to come out of the shadows. He silently cursed the small lamp for keeping most of his room in darkness. 

The wolf _purred_ in response, “I think you know.” 

He’d recognize that voice anywhere. 

He spent many nights replaying their last conversation in his head, trying desperately to memorize the only words he thought he’d ever hear his soulmate say. They weren’t particularly nice words to hold dear, but it was his voice that Stiles wanted to remember. 

“Peter,” he breathed, shoulders dropping a minuscule amount of tension as the man stepped into view. “How are you- I thought- how… What do you want?” He asked, hoping this was really happening and he wasn’t just seeing things that weren’t there. 

The wolf smirked then, turning to wander idly through his room. “Being dead didn’t work out for me, I decided to come back. You can thank Lydia for that.”

He was different. Still vaguely infuriating and smug, but different. He’d lost that edge, he was smoother somehow. Calm. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Stiles pressed. 

Peter hummed in thought, running his finger along the spine of a well-read book, “I’ve been having a very long chat with my nephew. You know, the usual: nostalgic memories, warnings, threats of evisceration on his part, etcetera. But you’ll never guess what he told me.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes, “is this you trying to play the suave man of mystery?” He asked, and maybe he was getting a tad defensive to cover up how awkward and self-conscious he felt. He knew exactly what Derek would have told him to get him here. Peter knew what they were, he must be sizing Stiles up in his head and Stiles didn’t knew if he would like what he saw

“Cute,” the older man said, refusing to get sidetracked, “he happened to let slip that you lost color when I died. Can you believe it took the boy _days_ to relay this information? To be fair, I’m certain he was making sure I wasn’t a danger before he let me come to you.” 

Now he understood why Derek was avoiding answering his calls this time. The man probably didn’t want to tell Stiles his mate was alive if he was going to have to kill him all over again. He still thought the man was an ass, but he was at least a little pleased Derek waited to make sure Peter was sane before sending him over. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. 

“Since you’re here, I take it he thinks you’re safe enough. Are you no longer insane? Have you gathered all your marbles?” Stiles asked, trying to skate right past the soulmate topic. He was nervous, he’d just spent over a month convincing himself that this moment would never happen for him. Not to mention he’d spent a lifetime getting ignored by most attractive people. He didn’t know how to have this conversation. 

But Peter had to like him, that’s how fate worked… right? 

Unless this was the moment he rejected Stiles and moved on with his life. 

“The marbles have been gathered. I don’t think I’m going to lose them again,” the man answered, easy and charming as he stepped further into Stiles’ space. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle as he gave the boy a casual sniff, then he was growling softly and Stiles was maybe-definitely into it. 

And of course Peter knew. Even on the off chance it _wasn’t_ written all over his face, the wolf would still be able smell it. 

Stiles nodded, still trying to keep his business face on as if he was conducting an interview. But Peter was stepping closer still, so close that their chests brushed as the man all but buried his nose in the crook of his neck. 

He was still growling, rumbling so deep in his chest that Stiles could feel it against his own. It made him want to pull Peter closer and hold him there, right where he belonged. Where Stiles could keep him safe and never lose him again. He could feel it. The bond was a small flickering little thing, but it was there, and it would only grow from then on if they fed it well.

It was that thought that brought him back to reality. He wasn’t sure he even wanted the bond to grow. Was he still bonded to a crazed werewolf intent on revenge? Or was this version of Peter a little less deranged?

He pressed his hands against Peter’s chest and gently pushed him away, he could hardly think straight with solid werewolf muscle was pressed against him.

Peter didn’t fight the push, but he didn’t step any farther away than where Stiles’ hands moved him. 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. I barely know you, not the real you. And I should probably still be upset with you too. Even if I understand why you did it and how you weren’t exactly in a healthy mindset at the time. _Still_ , I- I mean you’re my match, fate had to have done it on purpose. And I should really be grateful because who else gets a second chance like this? And I just-” He knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t gather his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to be handling everything he was feeling. 

He felt guarded and unsure, he was scared to allow himself to have this because it had already been taken from him once. “Are you going to do it again?” He asked, meeting Peter’s eyes nervously. 

“I can’t promise I won’t need to get my claws dirty again,” the older man sighed, taking a step back as if he was expecting Stiles to flinch away from him. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, “well duh. You’re a werwolf, kinda comes with the territory. And if it’s justified- cool, it’s fine. I’m worried about the murder sprees and you getting caught, I don’t want to watch you lose it and I definitely don’t want to watch Derek kill you all over again. It can’t be good for my mental health.”

Peter looked slightly taken aback by Stiles’ response, “That I can promise, I won’t be getting caught again.” 

“Good. Okay, yeah. That’s good. Then can I… can I get to know you?” Stiles asked, nervously chewing on his lip. They might be soulmates, but Peter could still reject him. It wasn’t a guaranteed answer. 

Peter smiled at him. And having the full force of that smile aimed at him was a little breathtaking. 

Stiles almost wanted to drop everything and run into Peter’s chest right then and there out of pure relief that maybe his life wasn’t going to be as crappy as he thought. He could feel what Scott and Allison were talking about now. He knew. This asshole was going to be it for him. 

Maybe the crazed Alpha had to die so he could meet the real one. 

“I would like nothing better,” the older man answered, face open and genuine in a way Stiles had never seen on him before. 

It really seemed like a new Peter. 

Stiles released a breath he didn’t know he was holding and nodded, “good, yeah, I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He started to open his mouth to ask another string of questions, thought better of it, and snapped it shut again. 

Peter just raised his brow at Stiles, his expression all but screaming, ‘out with it already’. 

And Stiles was happy to comply. “So… What are you? Are you undead? Like- vampire undead? Or did someone catch you on the brink of death and replace your organs with machinery like a cyborg? No, that one doesn’t make sense because I went colorless. You have to have really died. Does this make you some kind of zombiewolf? Or are you just… back?” Stiles asked curiously, he knew he was rambling but he needed to know. At least some of them were important questions. 

He also didn’t hide the way he was inspecting any and all visible skin, as if he’d find traces of rotten flesh peeking out from under a sleeve. 

Or sparkles.

Peter thought for a moment, probably sifting through the sea of questions. “I’m better.”

And that was good enough for Stiles.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The first chapter was probably fine as a standalone but I couldn’t step away from this story so here’s another chapter]

Dating Peter Hale was an odd experience. 

Not that Peter was anything less than perfect. 

Mostly it was strange to have to separate the man he once knew with the real Peter. 

When they first started dating, Peter could take a bite of a burger or a bloody steak and Stiles would have flashbacks to him crouched over Lydia’s crumpled body on the football field that night. 

He sometimes flinched if Peter reached for his hand unexpectedly, the memory of the Alpha holding his wrist to a fang filled mouth rising to the surface. 

Over time though, Stiles stopped associating _his_ Peter with that man entirely and the images stopped coming to his mind at all. 

That wasn’t him. 

The Peter he knew was too smart to resort to the things he’d done before. If he was going to get revenge now, Stiles was certain there wouldn’t be a body to be found or as much collateral damage as he’d left before. 

The man he knew wouldn’t kidnap or threaten him either. 

He was always always safe with Peter. 

Teasing the man became much more fun when Stiles stopped worrying about whether or not he was going to wake the beast if he pushed too hard. After Stiles stopped walking on eggshells, Peter stopped being so cautious or careful not to spook Stiles and the playful side came out. 

It was easier from that point on, they were able to have debates and arguments without either of them worrying about overstepping. 

Peter actually listened when Stiles rambled about his interests. He didn’t get that glazed over look in his eye like Scott did when Stiles talked about Star Wars for too long. He just listened to him talk about comic books and lord of the rings and his favorite tv shows with that soft smirk he got when he thought Stiles did something particularly cute. 

Stiles was shy the first time it happened, shrinking in on himself as much as he could without sinking into the park bench they had been sitting on and disappearing entirely. He tried to apologize for rambling on too long and probably boring the man to death in that self-deprecating way of his, but Peter had only pulled him closer and reassured him that nothing was more boring than death itself. 

But it was more than simply tolerating his oversharing. Peter actually _liked_ when he talked about his interests, he liked when Stiles talked enthusiastically about his favorite movies and books while barely catching a breath between bouts of excited rambling. 

When Stiles questioned this, and why his eyes hadn’t glazed over yet, his response had simply been, “Its cute to watch the people you care about get excited about something they enjoy. It’s contagious. I may not understand many of your references or have any idea what you’re talking about, but I could watch the way your eyes light up over it for hours. Besides,” he had smirked, “I’m not a heathen, I’ve read Tolkien and I may not be caught up on many of the things you talk about, but I know the basics of who the superheroes are and I’ve seen all the original Star Wars movies that were out before the fire, I grew up on them. I’m not as out of date as I seem.”

He let himself freely express his excitement after that.

__________

They spent many nights together binging movies and entire seasons of shows. Some nights were spent marathoning as many marvel films as they could get in, others were spent watching “the classics” as Peter called them. Really they were a bunch of old crime lord/mobster movies that the man loved. 

Sometimes Stiles went to Peter’s place for a quiet space to work on assignments. It was comfortable. 

Sure, he could have gone to a library or a coffee shop to force himself to concentrate like all the other stressed students, but those places didn’t have a hot werewolf who rubbed his shoulders and brought him snacks and coffee when he needed it. And if occasionally Peter had to offer kisses as Stiles’ incentive to stay on task, well that was just a bonus. 

Occasionally, they just sat beside each other and read. Peter _loved_ reading, he could go for hours without losing focus or getting fidgety like Stiles did. Some of his books looked like they were read and reread so often they were on the verge of falling apart at the seams. 

That’s how Stiles learned that Peter had once majored in literature, he was well on his way to getting his PhD before the fire. Only a few classes away from finishing. He wanted to be a professor. He’d sounded sad when Stiles asked, as if it was another lifetime and out of reach entirely. 

He could have left it alone and not pressed the clearly sore subject, but that wasn’t who he was. He brought over a stack of college brochures one day, just testing the waters. He claimed to have been browsing them for himself and not any ulterior motive, but Peter seemed more interested in researching these colleges for him than he was. 

After that, it took a lot of urging and teasingly calling him ‘Professor Hale’ for Peter to really consider going back. Stiles was glad Peter was contemplating his future and striving for what he wanted most. That was all that mattered to Stiles. No one got the second chance that Peter did, he wanted the man to make the most of it and do what made him happy instead of living with any regret.

__________

They’d been avoiding a certain conversation for months now, neither wanting to speak of the possibly sensitive subject. 

It came up somewhat naturally, during a lull in easy conversation. It surprisingly wasn’t as hard to talk about as Stiles thought it would be. 

They were in a clearing in the preserve, pleasantly stuffed with food and resting on a blanket. Stiles had been comfortable in the silence, happy just to lie beside Peter and be in the other man’s presence. 

Eventually though, Peter asked the question on both of their minds. 

“So, what was it like?” He asked curiously, “when I was gone.” He knew what death was like on his own end, but he wondered what it must have been like for Stiles. 

Stiles chewed on his lip for a moment, trying to put into words how he’d felt that month Peter was dead. “It was lonely. Which was a strange feeling to have since I didn’t actually know you, not the real you, but I lost something that day that I never knew was a part of myself. I was grieving a loss that I didn’t understand. Losing you, losing color, it made the world a much more depressing place than it already is. I tried reaching out to Derek, to maybe see what you were like before the fire, but he was less than receptive. He actually dragged me out of his loft one time. literally. He dragged me out and stuffed me in my jeep,” Stiles snorted at the memory, but he didn’t find it very funny. 

Peter looked pissed, lip twitching occasionally into a snarl he was trying to hold back, “You’ll have to excuse my nephew. He’s incapable of dealing with his emotions and if fleeing is not an option he will physically remove the threat to his mental barrier. Like a splinter. Trust me, he’s thrown me from the room quite a few times now as I try to coach him through being an Alpha. I’ll have to speak to him later about the way he treated you,” he said, reaching over to grip the boy’s hand for his own comfort as much as Stiles’. 

It was actually endearing the way Peter could be angry at Derek and still try to apologize for his behavior. “No that’s- you don’t have to do that. I’m over it. He was grieving too, I think- I understand why he did it, he didn’t even hurt me. Really-” Stiles tried, he didn’t want to cause any problems with Derek. Their friendship was rocky enough as it was. 

The look he got in return silenced his protests. Peter’s mind was made up. He’d make a proper Alpha out of the man, Stiles was sure of it. 

He wanted to steer the conversation back to where it was, to get Peter’s mind off of his anger at Derek, but he wasn’t sure it was going to be the most uplifting talk, “y’know, I kept trying to rationalize why you were my soulmate… You were nuts, you killed so many people, and then I had to _watch_ you die. I thought it was some kind of punishment from the universe for unknowingly being a bad person myself.” 

Fate had taken his mother, taken his soulmate, given him no one in the world but his father and the McCalls to really care for him. And while they loved him, they couldn’t be around him for too long without getting annoyed. Fondly annoyed, but still. He started to believe that he wasn’t worthy of being cared for. 

He barreled on without letting the other man speak, too wrapped up in his rambling, "And then I thought: if Peter was a psychopath, does that mean I’m just like him? Ready to snap at any minute? I put myself in your shoes and- well, if someone killed my father and I had the ability to do something about it? I wouldn’t hesitate.” 

Peter looked particularly pleased by the information, maybe he liked that his mate wasn’t completely moral. “You’re not a bad person Stiles. We just understand justice a little differently than others. An eye for an eye, if you will. You murder my family and I rip your throat out.”

There was a vicious glint in his eye and Stiles could only guess he was replaying the moment he got his revenge. 

It didn’t scare him like it would have before. 

Stiles was glad for him. He got his closure and Kate deserved everything she got. 

Peter hummed softly, leaning towards Stiles like this was a well kept secret, “I like that you’re a little like me. You care for very few people in this world and you would risk your life for those that you consider your own. You would have made a beautiful wolf, fighting ruthlessly and without mercy to protect your pack.”

It was exactly what he imagined he would be like if he were bitten and he feared that side of himself a little. It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ the bite, he did, he just didn’t know if he would hold on to a sense of morality with all the power that came with being a wolf. Then, what would Scott think of him? His best friend didn’t live in the gray zone of morality, it was wrong or it was right and that was that. 

He squirmed a little under Peter’s knowing gaze, he knew just as well as Stiles what he was warring with. But the man still looked almost smug, like he was sure Stiles would become a wolf in the future anyway. 

There was a good chance he was right. 

Stiles decided it was a good time to ask a question of his own, a much more interesting topic in his opinion, “What about you? What was it like? The… dying part.” 

Many people were colorless, the answer to Peter’s question could be googled. But how many people have died and come back to tell the tale? 

Probably also a lot. 

Sure, people flatline all the time and doctors bring them back after a few minutes. But none were dead for as long as Peter, and none of them came back on purpose. They’d maybe caught glimpses of something that their brain created in its dying moments, imagery they already associated with the afterlife. Peter was _dead_ dead. For over a month, his body was rotting, his brain wasn’t even functional to be creating imagery for that long. He had to know something that no one else did.

Peter was quiet for a moment. Stiles felt awkward enough to wave off the question and change the topic out of worry that he’d hit a nerve, but then the man spoke. “The first thing I noticed was that I finally had complete clarity. I don’t regret most of what I did, but I admit I wasn’t acting rationally. Had I been sane, I wouldn’t have gotten caught by my nephew and I wouldn’t have bitten some idiot kid. When I died, I felt like I had a handle on my mind again.”

Stiles opened his mouth to respond, but Peter didn’t look finished. 

He stared at the clouds, lost in thought. “The second thing I noticed was how dark and empty it was. If I could feel anything at all, I think it would have been freezing. There was no concept of time where I was, I faded in and out of existence randomly at first. Then, I haunted the banshee and possessed her to help bring me back.” 

Stiles frowned at the man, reminded of everything he’d put Lydia through in the past. He’d been scared out of his mind himself of Peter back then. The wolf probably would’ve ripped Stiles apart too without a second thought if he’d gotten in the way. 

It was still hard to believe that was the same man as the one beside him now. This Peter- he was gentle with Stiles, and he hadn’t shown any murderous tendencies towards anyone since he came back. 

He had no doubt that there was a ruthless killer prowling within, but that was reserved for their enemies. He’d made it known that he didn’t much care for the pack, but since they were Stiles’ sort of friends now, it was within his interests to protect them from harm if necessary. 

“Don’t give me that look. I was glad to have a purpose. I was losing myself in that place. I understand now how poltergeists and vengeful spirits become who they are. When you can’t move on and you’re faced with the endless void of death, you start to forget who you are and what’s important. Haunting the banshee and getting myself back here provided the structure I needed to keep my head,” Peter shrugged. 

Haunting Lydia wasn’t the most moral thing, but Peter had done many immoral things and he probably wasn’t going to stop there. Lydia’s fine. Or mostly fine. The worst it could have done to her was cause some psychological trauma, being in their pack would cause that anyway. 

Yes, he was trying to justify Peter’s actions and Lydia didn’t deserve anything that had happened to her since their town went to shit, but he was allowing himself to be selfish for once. If Peter hadn’t done what he did, Stiles wouldn’t have him back and he’d never know what it was like to have a soulmate. 

“Lydia. Her name is Lydia, and at the very least you should apologize for screwing with her head like that,” Stiles said, before sighing softly and deflating a bit, “I don’t blame you though. Maybe I’m being a little selfish, but I’m just happy you came back to me at all.” 

Stiles knew Peter only came back because he didn’t want to stay dead. He didn’t even know Stiles was his soulmate until Derek told him, but he was grateful anyway. 

Peter rolled his eyes, “I know her name Stiles. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll use it, and maybe I’ll apologize after the next meeting. That is, if the others let me get close enough to speak to her.” 

He had a point there, the pack was far from trusting when it came to Peter. They often avoided being within ten feet of the man and tended to cluster together, so none of them would be alone with him. As if he was going to snap and attack them all. 

Even Stiles’ insistence that Peter was better and Derek’s silent approval of the man into the pack hadn’t made them feel any easier about accepting him. The newbies hadn’t even known about werewolves when Peter was on the loose, but they trusted Scott’s hatred of the man and Derek wasn’t much into talking to ease their worries. 

“Well, all I ask is that you try. It probably won’t fix anything and I don’t blame you for that, but it might make them see that you’re not what they think you are,” Stiles shrugged, scooting closer into Peter’s side. 

Peter wrapped an arm around him and smirked, nuzzling his nose into Stiles’ neck, “It’s what _you_ think of me that matters more to me than a bunch of pups.” 

Stiles laughed at the tickle of beard against his skin, “well, if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say I’ve got some bad news,” he teased. 

That only made the older man pause in his nuzzling to smirk down at Stiles, “Is that so? Something tells me otherwise,” he hummed, “or do you not melt in my presence?” 

Stiles tried to keep a straight face, tried not to let his cheeks heat up at Peter’s knowing smirk. He failed of course, all it took was the gentle stroke of Peter’s finger tracing down his cheek and he was blushing cherry red, “I do not _melt_ ,” he muttered, not at all convincing. 

“Sweetheart, I know when you’re lying,” Peter said, practically purring into Stiles’ ear and trailing his lips down the boy’s throat. The light dusting of beard scraping against Stiles’ sensitive skin only working him up further. 

The sound that escaped Stiles’ lips then would have been embarrassing, but in that moment he didn’t really care. He pulled Peter in close, silently begging for more, and whined when Peter only laughed and pulled back again. “Eager are we? Odd behavior for someone who denies how deeply they crave my touch,” he said it so casually, like he wasn’t affected at all by their proximity. 

Bastard was really trying to prove his point. 

Stiles sighed heavily, as if admitting this pained him, “fine, fine. You win, I melt. My legs turn to jelly when I think about you and I am putty in your hands whenever you desire it. I have a very high opinion of you. I think you’re really great and if you don’t kiss me right now, that opinion might change for the worse,” he huffed out, although his glare was about as threatening as a snarling puppy and only served to amuse Peter further. 

“That’s better,” he smirked, finally bringing their lips together to Stiles’ great relief. 

The bastard was still trying to drive him insane apparently. His kiss was sweet and reserved where Stiles was trying to coax him into filthy. He knew very well what he was doing. He was driving Stiles to madness with the barest hint of tongue flicking against his own and the light pressure of his hand against the boy’s lower back, tugging him in close, but not close enough. 

Stiles growled in frustration, pushing Peter down onto his back and climbing on top. The older man laughed in surprise, but he went with it easily enough, humoring the mighty pup. 

He kept his lighthearted attitude until Stiles rolled his hips against his own and nipped playfully at his neck. Peter’s eyes flickered electric blue then and he growled, a real growl, not the pitiful growl of a pup like Stiles’ attempt. 

Stiles groaned and met Peter’s lips in a crash. Humming happily now that the wolf was just as fervent as he’d been only moments ago. Finally, Peter’s hands were pulling him in as if nothing was quite close enough. His tongue was no longer teasing, it was a dedicated exploration to claim Stiles’ mouth. 

They were all hands, hips, and clashing tongues, as if they couldn’t get enough of each other. It was only when Peter was growling in earnest and sprouting a hint of claw that Stiles stilled his movements, grinned cheekily down at the man, and rolled off of him as casually as ever to watch the clouds again. Ignoring how tight his pants felt and how hard he was breathing as he tried to remain calm. 

The noise that escaped Peter’s throat was definitely close to a whimper, although he’d never admit it. 

Stiles smirked over at the man, “eager are we? Odd behavior for someone who hasn’t told me that I am the most gorgeous person on the planet,” he winked, smile only growing when Peter’s eyes burned a brilliant electric blue and pinned him in place.

The way Peter crawled closer to him was nothing short of predatory, and Stiles _loved_ it. It always sent a shiver down his spine when the more animalistic side of the man came out. 

“Stiles, Mieczyslaw, you are the most gorgeous and radiantly beautiful being in the universe,” Peter said, clearly packing on the flattery for Stiles’ sake, but it worked. And maybe Stiles regretted teaching Peter his real name, he was always reduced to whimpers at the mere use of it. 

“Well, since you put it that way… c’mere,” he mumbled, cheeks burning red again as he let Peter crawl over him and kiss him once more. This one was different than before. It was just as intense and urgent as they tend to get, but it felt like so much more. Like universes colliding and cosmic forces lining up just to set fireworks off in his gut. 

Stiles was in love with Peter. 

He wasn’t longing for the _idea_ of love anymore, he was genuinely in love with Peter Hale.

The revelation was obvious and shocking all at once. Of course he was in love with Peter, it was as if he’d known this for a long while now, but hadn’t actually admitted it to himself. He expected to fall for him at some point, sure, that’s what soulmates did. Most of the time at least. 

Sometimes people just don’t work out. It was rare, but it happened. Some soulmates were strictly platonic and some couldn’t stand each other. Free will is a funny thing and life has all sorts of ways to twist a person into a hollow shell of what they could have been. 

Stiles had been on guard from day one. Scared that he wouldn’t get to have this, that his soulmate wouldn’t want him once he got to know him. It would have been just his luck to overcome the impossible and actually get to experience his soulmate returning from the dead just to find out the man didn’t actually want him. He had been terrified that he’d lose Peter all over again. There wasn’t much room in his life for more grief. 

It was ridiculous to try to keep from feeling any more pain, but the thought of getting close to Peter just to have him ripped away again made him want to lock up his heart and throw away the key. Now that he knew the man, really knew him, he was certain it would hurt a whole lot more the second time around.

So, the realization that he’d completely fallen for the man despite how scared he’d been came as a bit of a shock. 

Peter wasn’t just a mark now. He wasn’t a possibility set by the fates of what could have been, or a faceless concept of a soulmate that Stiles could only imagine having great potential with. 

He was alive. Peter was flesh and blood, charming and sweet and _such_ an asshole, but Stiles wouldn’t have it any other way. The thought of losing him couldn’t be enough to hold him back anymore, he wouldn’t let it. 

Stiles gasped for breath when Peter trailed kisses down his neck, body rolling up to meet his and whimpering softly. “I love you,” he sighed, trying to remain casual about it and not turn beet red with the anxiety of admitting it. 

The older man paused in his kisses, which was slightly concerning, but then he was pulling back just enough to look down at Stiles and smirk, “I know.” 

Stiles couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped him, “you asshole, you did not just Han Solo me.” He gave a half hearted shove at Peter’s shoulders, but the man stayed put. 

“I told you, I’ve seen the movies,” Peter winked. He was quite possibly the sexiest man alive just then and it had nothing to do with the way the setting sun made his skin glow and his hair shine. 

His worried for a minute that Peter didn’t feel the same way just yet, but it was quickly put to rest only a moment later, “movie references aside, I love you too. Death itself couldn’t keep me away from you now.” 

Appeased by Peter’s admission of love, Stiles pulled the man into a soft kiss, “good.” 

It was comforting to know that Peter was one of the only people who could say that and really mean it.


End file.
